Page 55 of Dancing With Desire

I laugh. “We’ve had our moments,” I admit, and she screeches in delight.

“Does she know about the baby?” asks Ania. “And the wedding?”

I nod, remembering back to being in that house alone with her while she ranted about it. “She didn’t take the news well.”

“She always hated losing,” says Ania, and Daria nods in agreement.

“Hold on,” I mutter, frowning, “How did you guys meet her?”

They exchange a look before Ania leans closer. “Dmitry introduced us a few times.”

“Right,” I say, trying to control my jealousy.

“They were supposed to marry, after all,” Daria says. “And trust me, it was a surprise to us all when she rocked up here likethe next queen in line to the Volkov throne. We said it wouldn’t last, didn’t we?” she adds, looking to Ania for confirmation.

I stand, taking them both by surprise. “I need to pee,” I mutter. “Damn bladder.”

I get inside and release a long breath. Marshall appears, his face suddenly laced with concern. “Oh god, what have you done?”

I narrow my eyes. “You need to stop assuming I’ve done something every time I need a goddamn minute to breath.”

“Jesus, can I have my head back?” he asks sarcastically.

“I notice you don’t speak to me like this around Dmitry,” I snap.

He grins. “It’s a secret love I have for you. Besides, Dmitry wouldn’t understand our terrible British banter. What’s up?”

I sigh, resting my elbows on the worktop and burying my face in my hands. “Dmitry came here with her, didn’t he?”

“Fuck, Tori, get a grip. He was going to marry her.”

“I know,” I snap, slamming my hands on the tabletop. “I can still be annoyed.”

“About what?” he asks, sounding exasperated. “You know what? Lollygag,” he says, arching his brows.

“You can’t use that now,” I argue.

“I can. It’s my safe word too, and I’m pulling it.”

“For what?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m having a moment here, Marshall. Let me wallow.”

“No. There are guests, and you have to face up to the fact that Dmitry had a past. His future is with you, and he loves you. Now, get a fucking grip and make some friends.”

I smile, glancing out the doors at the women. “They seem nice.”

“They do?” he asks, sounding surprised.

I laugh. “Hey, don’t trust me. I’m crazy, remember?” And I head back out.

DMITRY

We gaveup golf halfway around. The heat is too much, and our home country is often cold, so these men are not used to it. Mikhail hired out the club bar, and as we take our seats, the barman brings over two bottles of their finest whiskey.

“So,” says Akim, “what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” I ask as he pours me a drink.

“To rid us of Vladimir.”

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